


Aches

by Threshie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Casifer Mentioned, Crying Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Takes Care of Sam Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Late Night Conversations, Podfic Welcome, Post-Episode: s11e14 The Vessel, Post-Mark of Cain, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Sam Winchester Whump, Sam and Dean Worry About Cas, Souls, Touchy-Feely, Trauma From Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), charlie bradbury mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 10:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16891038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threshie/pseuds/Threshie
Summary: The night after returning from the past and learning that Lucifer is possessing Castiel, Dean can’t sleep. Turns out Sam can’t either.





	Aches

Dean couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about everything — especially about Cas. Cas was with the Devil right now, being tortured probably. Sam had said he’d chosen to be Lucifer’s vessel, but it was hard to believe it. Sam had been there and figured it out while Dean was back in the past. The submarine crew weighed heavily on his mind, too. Not one person on that sub had reacted with cowardice when faced with an impossible situation. Not one of them had lashed out at him for being the one to tell them that they were all going to die.

Their faces kept coming to mind every time Dean started to fall asleep. After a few rounds of that, he’d had enough. Shoving the thick wool blanket off of his legs, the hunter climbed out of bed. With a weary sigh, he shoved on his Dead Guy robe and padded down the hallway in his bare feet. Maybe a night cap would help knock him out. God, Cas…there had to be something they could do for him…

Light spilled out into the hallway from the kitchen door. Frowning, Dean pressed to the wall and peered around the doorway. Sam was the only other person who ought to be in the bunker.

It was Sam.

Dean would have been relieved if he wasn’t so worried for his brother. Sam sat on the floor leaned back up against the kitchen counter. He hadn’t bothered with a robe; the plain white T-shirt and pajama pants looked chilly against that metal counter. Sam had a hand held to his forehead, and his hair was a big tangle, like he’d rolled around in bed for awhile before coming here. 

Dean frowned and rounded the corner, cautiously setting foot into the kitchen. 

“Sammy?” He said softly, tilting his head to try and glimpse his brother’s face. He’d had a few nightmares start this way…

Sam made a tiny sound, more of a huff than anything, and lowered his hand to hug around his stomach. Dean made a sympathetic wince at the look on his face. Sam said nothing, but nothing sure looked like it hurt.

Hurrying over, he sank down to his knee beside Sam and touched his shoulder.

“Hey…you okay?” 

Sam turned to him, face pale, and his brows pinched further. 

“I-I think,” he managed, sounding faint.

Dean had a very bad feeling about this. Sam had been okay when they’d gone to bed. He ran his hand lightly over his brother’s shoulder, soothing. Sam looked at him like he might cry.

“Maybe you were right.”

Dean froze at his tone — exhausted, and so, so guilty. 

“What do you mean?” He asked, taking a seat on the floor beside his brother.

Sam didn’t look at him, hugging tighter around his stomach. When he took a breath, it hitched in the middle.

“When you said I s…should’ve died.”

“When I WHAT?” Dean put a hand on his shoulder and was alarmed when Sam flinched. He relaxed after a second, though, and just slumped there against the counter rather than try to move away. “That doesn’t sound like me, when the hell did I say that? Sam?”

“When Charlie…” Sam choked on the name, swallowed and tried again. “At her f-funeral, you said that. Said it should’ve been me, and you’re r-right, Dean. I-I don’t deserve to be here.”

Dean stared as his brother broke down in tears. 

“Hey, nonono, I don’t think that,” he said quickly, turning to put an arm around Sam. He rested his other hand on Sam’s cheek, guiding him to look at Dean. “I remember the pyre for her, but barely anything else, Sammy. That was the Mark talking, not me. You’ve gotta believe me.”

Despite his words about what Dean supposedly thought of him, Sam still turned and buried his face in the shoulder of Dean’s robe.

“I k-know you said I don’t get to, but I have to say it. I’m s-sorry, I’m so sorry…” His whole body shook with sobs. Dean wrapped both arms around him and drew slow strokes down his back, biting back his own tears. Sam had gone months thinking Dean believed this? That Sam deserved to die, that he shouldn’t even be allowed to tell Charlie ‘sorry’ at her funeral? 

“Shhhh, it’s okay, little brother,” Dean whispered, holding him. “You say whatever you need to, it’s okay. You know me — I’d die for you, I-I don’t want you to die. Right? That’s not like me, right?”

Sam didn’t seem to hear him. 

“He—Lucifer, h-he tried to kill me,” he choked. “A-and, I thought maybe I deserved it, ‘cause I…y-you said I should’ve died.”

Dean held him closer, disturbed to hear this.

“When, Sammy? When I was on the submarine?”

Sam nodded against him, and Dean could feel the tears soaking through his robe’s shoulder. His chest hurt. Lucifer tried to kill Sam while he looked like Cas. Cas was probably inside somewhere, having to watch that. God…

Sam was almost hyperventilating thinking about the Devil, so Dean focused on rubbing his back slowly, talking to him.

“Shh, shh…let’s just breathe a minute, okay? In and out,” he coaxed. “Slow, Sammy, just breathe slow. I’ve got you.” Sam did his best to breathe along with Dean, still hitching and sobbing in the middle of each inhale. After five or six breaths, though, he quieted. Dean smoothed his hair down, slow and gentle, and kept him doing the breaths another couple times to be sure.

“Okay,” he said, after a few moments of quiet. The kitchen floor and counter were slowly sapping all the warmth from his legs and back, but he’d gladly stay there and freeze if it meant helping Sam. “Tell me what happened with Lucifer, Sam. What did he do?”

The way Sam started to tremble worse scared him. His brother had never said it outright, but Dean knew deep-down what happened in the Cage. He was haunted by it, by the fact that Sam went to it willingly — placing the world above himself. And he’d suffered horribly for it, for over 100 years in Hell.

“H-he touched my soul.” Sam interrupted his thoughts, speaking faint and hoarse against Dean’s shoulder. “I-I thought he was Cas, and we had to save you from the sub, s-so I told him, touch my soul. Power up.” He was silent for a long moment, biting back a sob. “He said I asked for it. Said…he’d p-play Cas to you and tell you I insisted, that I knew the risks. He was gonna kill me, Dean…” 

“He’s gone now,” Dean reassured him. “He can’t hurt you, I’ve got you.”

“Cas stopped him, or he would’ve…” Sam’s voice was watery and thin. Dean silently thanked Cas for protecting his brother.

“But he didn’t,” he continued gently. “You’re a little beat up, but you’re gonna be okay, Sammy.”

Sam looked down at his stomach, and Dean remembered the way he’d been hugging his arms around it. 

“Where his hand…went into me, hurts,” he confessed, and it sounded hard to get the words out. Dean didn’t want to think about what it sounded like he was describing. “What if he damaged my soul? It’s already…in the Cage, he already messed it up. I-I’m not sure souls heal, Dean.”

Sam’s words gradually got softer and softer, more and more broken. Dean tried to focus on him and not on fury at Lucifer.

“Hey, you’re still with me,” he pointed out, running a hand slowly up and down Sam’s back. “You’re gonna be okay, Sammy. Let’s get off the floor, okay? I’ll stay right with you if you want.”

Sam didn’t really raise his head, still sniffling as he loosened up his hold on Dean so that his brother could stand. Taking one of Sam’s arms, Dean draped it over his shoulders and pushed with his feet, doing his best to haul his bigger little brother to his feet. Sam grabbed the edge of the counter and helped lift, and up they went. 

“Dean,” he whispered, hugging an arm around his stomach again and wincing. Dean patted his chest with the arm not looped around his waist.

“Just a little walk down the hallway, and then you can lay down, I promise,” he soothed, steering Sam for the kitchen door. “I know your soul’s probably sore, but it’s obviously all one piece in there. You’re definitely all you. Soulless you would’ve been doing something twisted when I showed up, like — like drinking milk from the carton or something.” 

Sam glanced at him, eyes red and tired, and managed a ghost of a smile.

“Y-yeah.”

“Yeah,” Dean echoed, relieved to see him smile. He led Sam out into the hallway and toward his room, stepping slowly because big movements seemed to make him wince. Lucifer had definitely hurt him with this soul touching incident, even if it wasn’t serious damage. It had hurt when Cas did it for just a few seconds, and that was when he was being careful. Dean didn’t want to imagine the kind of agony Sam had been in. He’d been tortured enough for several lifetimes — they both had — and he didn’t deserve this.

Neither did Cas. The Darkness was on the loose because of DEAN, and the angel never would have said yes to Lucifer unless the fate of the world was at stake. Lucifer never would have used Cas’s body to hurt Sam if not for the Mark and killing Death.

If not for Dean’s decisions. 

Sam was hurt right now because of him, when it came down to it.

“Okay, let’s get you more comfortable,” Dean told his brother, helping him sit on the edge of the bed. He folded the blankets back and helped Sam crawl under them, laying on his side with an arm still wrapped around his stomach. 

Sam looked miserably up at him, exhaustion in his eyes.

“H-he’ll hurt Cas for this. For stopping him.”

Dean didn’t doubt it, and that just pissed him off more on their behalf. Lucifer was a monster. They were going to get Cas back, and then if fighting Amara happened to kill the Devil, nobody was bound to miss him.

“Cas’s tough,” he told Sam, folding the blankets up over him and smoothing down his hair. “He overpowered an archangel to save you — he’s gonna be okay. You both are.”

He’d try to believe it, too.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to get some Sam feels out. If anybody ever needed a big hug and some gentle words, it's Sam Winchester around season 11. Comments and kudos always appreciated!


End file.
